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Do you remember the world at knee-height, when the grain of the carpet felt like a vast landscape under your small hands, doorknobs were constellations above your head, and adult voices rumbled down from the heavens? Perhaps one reason for our nostalgia is that we remember this time – a time to which we can never return, a landscape forever lost to the perspective of height.
At seventeen, I welcomed a cat into my family. A friend of my mother's, who was a veterinarian, gave us one of the male kittens her cat had given birth to. For seventeen years, from the age of forty-five days, we lived together.
This cat and I shared a commonality: we both loved cardboard boxes. I remember the way I explored them as a child, how they became worlds unto themselves. Observing how he would curl within its cardboard walls, content in his enclosed world, I began to think about the nature of inside and outside, of the boundaries that both constrain and protect. In observing the cat’s comfort within the confines of a box, I began to wonder if humans, too, find solace in their frameworks—shaped by the boundaries of belief, culture, and identity. He would explore every edge, every corner, every opening. When I chose boxes for him, I chose them based on the intuitive memory of my own childhood—a sense of which spaces felt good. He would sometimes look at me with a quiet curiosity, as if to say, "How do you know which box is the perfect box?" He could sense that our interaction was different from the way he played with the rest of my family.
Cardboard boxes, as boxes, have an inside and an outside, a defined space within and the world beyond. It’s a simple framework, but one that contains multitudes, an analogy that allows us to understand far more complex concepts.
For example, there is the "box" of being Protestant, with its defined edges and established openings, within which lies a specific set of rules, a shared set of beliefs, and a particular way of understanding the world. Then there’s the "box" of being a nihilistic existentialist like Albert Camus, a different structure altogether, with its own sharp corners and open spaces, a space where the world is understood in a very different way.
Justice, ethics, ideals—each nestled in its own box, each defined by its own boundaries, each waiting to be opened or closed. Many things exist within defined frameworks of shared assumptions.
I can respect the viewpoint of religious studies, which examines historical evidence to suggest that people created gods, as well as the viewpoint of Protestant theology, the metaphysical viewpoint of philosophy, and the ambiguous and profound polytheistic worldview of Japan. This is because I understand the “box”—the limits of the framework of shared assumptions, each space with its own distinct characteristics. I can look at the edges of each box and understand what they are meant to hold and also what they keep out.
When a shared framework of assumptions is absent, discussions often falter. We speak past each other, trapped in the confines of our own boxes. Without a common ground, understanding becomes elusive. If we start from inside, we cannot hope to make the connections that might exist outside.
However, if there is no aggression, we might still find common ground with someone who is not within our box. Perhaps we might enjoy a pleasant lunch together, connecting over the shared experience of a beautiful landscape or a moving piece of music. Instead of beginning with the differences, we begin with the shared experience of beauty.
Conversely, even if you share the same “box” with someone, if that person is aggressive or becomes a terrorist, mutual understanding will be impossible. The contents of the box matter less than the way someone relates to the world outside of it.
This brings us to some essential questions we must ask as we navigate the complexities of modern society:
Are shared assumptions in place?
Are we speaking from inside or outside our shared framework of assumptions?
Is aggression present?
These are the crucial factors for us to consider as we navigate modern society. In essence, it's about diversity, about embracing multiple viewpoints.
Maintaining diversity is a means to an end—a way to ensure we are mutually respectful. If mutual understanding is not possible, then separation may be beneficial. Doing this allows us to tap into the power of billions of differing viewpoints. Our vision can be narrowed by stress and intense focus. Maintaining diversity ensures someone will notice what we have overlooked. Like a child who recognizes the possibilities of the box, we can learn to see the many possibilities of understanding.
Valuing diversity not only ensures everyone’s safety and security but also provides the practical advantage of many different perspectives.
Having a memory of being 90cm tall made it easier for me to communicate non-verbally with the cat. Because of this, the cat trusted me as a playmate, sensing that I understood the unique language of space and play. Perhaps it is this memory of being 90cm tall—when the world was a landscape of infinite possibilities—that reminds us to approach each framework with humility and curiosity. In doing so, we might rediscover the beauty of diversity and the boundless potential of understanding.
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AIart on Instagram:
WOW, what an exceptional, deep point of view.
It reminds me to the western concept of bias but enhances them to a 3 dimensional “multiverse” of biases within one person.
Being concious of this - and able to reflect the inner and outer space - is certainly a goal we all should have.